Falling
by AcousticLetters
Summary: It s been 5 years since The Joker was put to solitary confinement in Arkham. Bruce Wayne is still coping with the fact that part of him is missing and will never come back. Something dark lurks beneath Gotham s surface. Rated M for future chapters.
1. The Mask

It´s around midnight when I wake up, soaked in sticky, cold sweat. The nightmares of that night still haunt me…

_"WHERE ARE THEY?!"_

_"What time is it?"_

_"WHY?!"_

_"Well, it depends…"_

_…_

_"NO! NO!"_

"_Harvey, it´s alright… I…"_

…

"_Lie to him, tell him it´s going to be alright"_

* * *

Alfred keeps telling me that I need to go out and "pretend" to have fun. It made sense, once. That was a long time ago…and it feels like a lifetime.

How can I even begin to think of having fun, when the only person with whom I truly wanted to spend the rest of my life was taken away from me? She loved me, I know that. She was going to leave Dent, just before that _son of a bitch_ sent everything to hell, literally.

Dent… _Harvey._

I thought he was a bit of a social inept, awkward looking, mind-numbingly boring politician. Rachel never spoke about him on the rare occasion we talked over the phone. We barely saw each other since I told her who I really was… So I never really knew him. To me he was another pretty face looking to get some easy money, and I didn't respect him.

I misjudged him.

I remember the night I "bumped" into them at that fancy restaurant, as I expected, Rachel looked fabulous, and Harvey… well, he looked like he felt the luckiest man in the world. He had no idea…the irony of it all makes me huff, I can´t even bring myself to smile after everything that happened. It feels…wrong.

The moment he said that maybe he would be up to the job of being… what I was, the moment he showed that spark of bravery, true, un-wavering sense of justice, and strong will, hatred towards crime, and knew how he would tackle such issues, I knew I had to wrap things up, as Batman and clear the path for him, for _Gotham_…

I won´t deny the fact that seeing them together on the news made me jealous, and to make things worse, that´s how I found out about them, she called later that evening, but I was just to numb to answer, even if I did, she really didn't have to explain a thing, she had every right in the world to be with him.

We never _labeled_ our relationship, and there were just our feelings, she made it pretty clear that she loved me back. She held back, though, and nothing ever happened after that kiss. Harvey was the obvious choice.

Whereas I was seen as an eccentric billionaire playboy, and a womanizer, Dent represented the opposite, trustworthy, loyal, a family man…

He was the better man.

Then there´s Commissioner Jim Gordon. The only man I could ever consider the closest thing to a friend I ever had back then… and I made him lie for me, years of criminals brought to justice, all built over a bent truth, that Harvey Dent was murdered by no other than the vigilante known as Batman, me. He had to label me _public enemy _unleashing the whole police task force on me, I saw the look on his face when I told him to say it had been me, he felt powerless, angry and sad... Just like his son, who was wondering why the man who had just saved his life was running away from him.

I can still hear the little boy´s screams.

"Batman?_ Batman! Why is he running, Dad?_"

"…_we'll hunt him, because he can take it."_

"…_A Dark Knight."_

He of course never intended to capture me, and all those nights on the rooftop, he always said:

"I won't be around forever, you have to tell the truth, What if my successor believes what I have told? What then? ", he seemed older than he was, his hair was greying on some parts, as well as his moustache. All those years hunting crime lords, breaking up mobs, and bringing back to prison all those escaped convicts. It was taking its toll on him.

"I don´t tell people what to believe. We did the right thing." I told him coolly.

He ran his hand through his hair in exasperation, looking to the already rusting signal. I was already gone.

As Bruce Wayne I could always get away with lies, hollow words, and fake smiles. As _Batman_ I answered to no-one, said only what was necessary, and always told the truth, to an extent, on a need-to-know basis.

In a way, I _was _the night, only showing some things, holding back others. Is that lying? To some people it may be, but sometimes truth is just too much to take in.

It´s on nights like these, when I wonder if I did the right thing, _hanging the cape_, as Alfred calls it.

Sure, after that maniac was put into solitary confinement at Arkham, crime in Gotham began to decrease, to a certain extent. Those two years after _Rachel _(even thinking her name hurts…), after…that night, I kept watching over Gotham, because that's all I had left, Batman.

I remember her saying _he _was my true self, and Bruce Wayne was just a mask, at the time I shrugged off the thought, because I didn't think it to be true. Now I know she was right. Batman kept me sane, focused, gave me a sense of purpose, and the best of it all was I didn't have to _think,_ I had little (and short) to no nightmares back then, I was so exhausted after chasing up on new criminals, examining crime scenes before Gordon´s cops were even notified (that even brought a little joy to my nights, knowing some of them outright hated me for so many reasons, including "tampering with" their crime scenes, though no one ever noticed).

I even had my fair share of super criminals: An infamous old fashioned gangster, Cobblepot that ran by the name of "The penguin", he certainly resembled a lot to said bird and smelled a lot of fish and stagnant water, his looks might have been funny, but he was far from funny. The night I finally got my hands on him and brought him to Gordon´s precinct, I found him throwing human limbs to his dogs, oddly enough, I never found any trace of fish or _penguins _in his warehouses, his home, or his sorry excuse for a hideout; which led me to think he chose the name mirroring what people think of penguins: slow, stupid and not very useful, until you watch them swim. He must have been intimidating to all his victims.

There was some non-conclusive evidence that he practiced cannibalism, he never admitted it, and hard as I tried, never found solid proof of that, though I _know_ he did it. That night his breath smelled of something I couldn't place, it hit me later after I delivered it to Gordon; somehow, he found his way to Arkham, where he and some of his henchmen were still running an illegal drug business, not only on Gotham, but all America and some countries on Europe.

And then there was this other psychopath, who gave me quite some trouble, because he was _smart_. And I mean, surprisingly smart. He used to kidnap people at random (or so it seemed at first) and put them in perilous predicaments, where they had to solve a puzzle, a riddle or some other kind of crazy game to stay alive and walk out of it. His killing ratio was of an astonishing and disturbing 90%, to this day GPD has 54 kidnappings accounted for, from the 6 survivors 4 had to be sent to Arkham to receive appropriate treatment, the other two killed themselves.

On his 61th victim I got the hang of some patterns that led me to an abandoned beacon far on the east side of town, The victim, a 17 year old girl, was tied up, his hands and feet were firmly knit together. The night I rescued the girl, he was waiting for me, I never thought he would put up much fight on one on one, I found out he was incredibly agile; unlike the Joker he knew how to deliver a quick punch. He was all over the place. He was too fast for me, but again, predictable after a few mintues, he started to make the same movements after a while, so I knocked him out before he could even raise his fist towards my face. It felt good.

He killed himself a year ago, in solitary confinement; Gordon told me forensic results were positive that he had just decided to stop breathing. It bothers me not why he did it, but it add up to his name, and it remains a mystery to this day why he killed himself.

I feel excitement, just remembering those two. And that excitement tells me something s wrong with me.

Without noticing I´m out in the hallway, wandering without course, I find myself in front of the main flight of stairs. I go up to the cellar, and out to the terrace. It's nearly a full moon tonight and the view of the city is, simply put, beautiful.

I know for a fact people think of the Batman as some perfect detective, with little emotion, god-like incorruptibility, and while some of those are true, if there is something I do all the time is _feel._ Alfred knows this, he knows me better than anyone, honestly I see him as the closest thing to a father I will ever have, even though sometimes he acts more like a big (and very old, though his mind is as young as mine) brother, he always knows what to say, what to do to make me see things just the way they are.

If it were not for him I would´ve given up when the Joker had the city under siege, I didn´t want to have anything to do with Batman anymore, and yet, he spoke to me, not as if I were made of glass and would break at the slightest touch of truth. He spoke out of his heart, to the point, and he was right, I behaved likea son of a bitch with all those mercenaries, thugs, and murderers, I pushed then, shoved my foot over their throats, broke their bones, drop them from questionable heights (ah, Maroni, Flass…), I made them all squeal and quiver in fear, I remember some of them even wetting their pants, I wanted to _kill _the Joker, make him pay, turns out, it all backfired on me. Didn't I see this coming? No. And Alfred saw right through me, he knew I was desperate, that I needed to hang on to something, he reminded me my job was not done.

I burned the entire forest.

But now? What do I do? Where do I go from here? Not even the cold breeze calms me down, and I notice I'm breathing hard, fast. I´m still angry.

I have been angry for so many reasons, for so much time, that I don't even remember feeling at peace. What surprises me most is I realize why I'm angry, and with whom.

Me.

I notice a little hummingbird, laying in the grass, twitching, agonizing, two others stand there, moving their heads, trying to understand what is happening to the other. The bird dies with one last sad note. The other two hummingbirds fly away immediately.

The bird moves one more time, looks like he had one last breath. And sure enough, he sings some notes, barely audible. And then stops breathing.

I could´ve… - no. I _should have _known she was not where he said she´d be. I don´t feel guilt for wishing Dent would´ve died that day, not then, not now. I did my best to save both, I failed. The Joker knew I would, he got to me, he knew I didn´t care about Dent as much as I did for her. But I was so angry, I wasn´t thinking clearly, I just wanted to beat that damned clown to a bloody pulp, get Rachel, and then make him pay the price. If I had handled the situation objectively, I´m sure I would´ve found a way to save them both, a way in which Gordon would´ve arrived in time. I don´t blame him, he never gave up, on the city, on me, even with Harvey pointing at his son with the gun, he was a true patriot.

I was the one who failed. The one thing I thought I´d never do was what brought Rachel´s demise: _feelings._ Too much anger made me be what I swore I´d never be:_ jury, judge and executioner_, I wasn't supposed to make him pay, Batman was there only to do all the things the police couldn't, to help them make their job, inspire them to be the best they could be, to inspire Gotham´s citizens to stand up to the bad, the mean, not… this… mere vendetta, I was only thinking about me, and how much I loved Rachel, how much it would hurt to lose her (I had no idea). I wasn´t a symbol, just a man in a mask, trying to save the only one he ever loved. (Ducard´s words echo in my mind…)

Anger doesn't scare me, I embrace it, it fuels my actions, or at least it did, what has being troubling me is the fact that I´m angry at myself, because I _regret. _I´m not familiar with the emotion of wishing I did something in a different way. I feel like I´m dragging a huge stone behind me and every time I turn around to see what it looks like and cut the rope to get rid of it, the stone disappears.

"I knew you´d be up here, sir."

It still amazes me how good is Alfred´s hearing. Maybe I deem him older than he is…

"As far as I can go without getting out of the house", I do not look at him, he knows why I´m here.

"That bad?"

A quick glance, a nod, and he knows.

"Master Wayne, I-", I cut him off with a wave of my hand. He has heard this a hundred times, I don't want to bore him, as much as I am bored of myself right now.

"Not tonight, Alfred".

"Alright, Master Wayne", he stands there for a few seconds, waiting for me to cave in, but I resist the urge to splutter everything out, I control myself just a little bit to tell him before he turns around.

"What day is it?"

His face tells me exactly what I expected, he´s taken aback, but quickly composes his face and says quietly, "It´s Tuesday, April the twentieth…", he looks at me, pondering something in his head, "Why do you ask?"

"I´m just trying to have a normal conversation, aren't things like this conversational starters anymore?" I say, arching an eyebrow and smiling at him for the first time in months.

I make a mental note; his birthday is in two weeks.

"Well honestly sir, would you even call this a conversation? I think if I didn´t work for you, I´d just say ´excuse me, I think I saw someone´ and then leave the room with the first lady I saw". He looks me straight in the eyes, his lower lip twitching a bit.

That's what I love about Alfred, his jokes are so bad, they´re good. And part of this is the sixth sense he has to know when to tell them, and not to laugh.

"Yeah, maybe you´re right, but we´re stuck with each other, aren´t we?" I say to him, half joking, half telling the truth.

"Would you like to go inside, or shall I bring actual alcoholic beverages up here?"

"You know I don't drink"

"I do, and I do."

"Be my guest".

"Very well, sir".

He turns around, shaking his head, slowly; he must think the same thing about my jokes. But as I said, we´re stuck with each other. Not a bad thing. Not at all…

It´s nearly 3 a.m., Alfred is sitting on a rickety wooden chair, very old and dusty, just like I thought him to be when I was a kid. His head is slightly tilted to his left, and his mouth is a bit open. His left arm is hanging over a glass of scotch, and the other one rests placidly on his belly. I never knew he snored.

I smile to myself, and turn my head away from him, somehow I feel like I´m intruding on something private.

I lean on the balustrade, holding my glass (scotch, just to make Alfred feel comfortable. Haven't touched it all night). Something gets my attention, far in the city, I see it.

For the first time in five years, I see Gotham needs Batman, one more time…

Then just like some cheap Christmas lights, the lights of the buildings and streets of Gotham flash a couple of times and then, darkness. The bat is still up there.

Gordon is risking it, I know he knows I decided to lay low, so he wouldn't do this to get my attention if it wasn't important.

"Alfred." I say quietly.

_Nothing._

"Alfred", this time I gently rub his arm. He wakes up, as if there was a button to turn him on sarcastic butler, no slight jump, no blurred voice, if anything, he rubs his eyes for a second.

"What is it?", he moans. Ah, there´s the catch. "-Master Wayne", he adds quickly.

"I´m going out". I get inside and leave for the cave. I can almost see the disappointment in his face.

It stings, but the growing sensation of power I feel as I get close to the library, crushes my guilt. I hear his footsteps behind me, as fast as mine. I fly down the stairs, my robe billowing behind me, and I hear Alfred´s pace slows, but is still firm. I cross the room in what feels an eternity, and play the notes that open the gate to my former sanctuary. The piano is dusty, and the bookshelves have some spider webs, and I barely notice my footprints on the carpet as I walk. I enter and nearly gasp when I see Alfred beside me in the elevator.

"I´ve been around here more than you know, and more than I´d like" he simply states, pushes the button and the gates close.

I chuckle a bit, and he glances back at me. His face never leaves the gates of the elevator.

As a kid I never really fell in love with any girl, no crushes, no nothing, the closest thing I ever was to that was when Rachel and I played at the greenhouses. But If I had to say what I'm feeling right now is that. My stomach is full of butterflies.

We arrive at the cave, I open the gates, and exit the elevator without waiting for Alfred, he´s trying to delay this as much as humanly possible, but he already knows it won´t matter, this is the only thing that ties me to the world outside this house.

The sensors feel my presence and the small black platform rises from the water, along with the stairs, some bats flutter somewhere to my left, and the waterfall hisses loudly to my right. The cold, wet floor brings back in some sort of a flashback, the memories of my past life.

I walk to the center and as I get there, the computers and the wardrobe rise from the floor. I feel as a kid, saving his favorite part of the meal for last. I take a look at the monitors, the lights and the beeps echo through the cave, some bats squeak angrily at the lights and fly elsewhere. Then I look at it.

Just as the moon takes my breath away every time I see it in its full glory, I find myself holding my breath when I look at the suit, _"the batsuit"_, as Alfred used to call it, just to annoy me. I know he is watching, I know he´s wishing I randomly say _"Okay I was joking, let's go back",_ but he knows I won´t do that, so he doesn't say a word. I look at him straight in the eye, his height is still level with mine, he must have been taller in his days, a sight to behold.

"I need this, Alfred", I say to him, almost begging.

"That's what scares me", he says sadly.

"What is?"

"That I know you do."

I open the plastic doors and grab the cowl.

"_Once more" _I mutter, looking at those empty eyes.

I see Alfred shaking his head out from the corner of my eye.

I must stop feeling.

* * *

**Well, thats about it. The prologue, to any potential readers, bear with me, I´m writing this as I go. I do have a general idea of where it´s going, and how it ends.**

** I´ll try to update as fast as I can, I had this beta read, but couldn´t wait, so I´m publishing it anyway. **

**Constructive criticism is much appreciated. **

**AcousticLetters.**


	2. Pieces

Feeling the familiar coldness of the suit embracing my skin, the smell of it, the sound it makes when I flex my arms feels almost like wearing old shoes. It´s like opening a long forgotten book. You don't remember what happened, until you open it again and continue the story.

I can feel Alfred´s eyes piercing through my skull. He hasn´t said a word, I know he will not talk to me until I get back.

I can´t risk detection by using the tumbler, so I use the bat-pod to get as close as I can to the city.

_Bat-pod? _I have to thank Lucius for that one. Alfred loves the name, though.

As I cross the waterfall hiding the secret entrance to the cave at full speed, I let the cold water wash away all sign of guilt, remorse, and sadness. Tonight, I am a phantom, a silent creature of the night. Tonight I _am _ the nightmare.

_I am Batman._

The pathway leading to the main road is filled with animals, making noises, preparing themselves for the night. Either if it is to go out or get in, I don't know.

As soon as I hit the main road I go at full speed, passing just a couple of cars. They wouldn't see me, as the lights on the pod are off. The less I show of myself, the better, and it´s always been that way. After twenty minutes I see the bridge that connects Gotham with the suburbs. I cross it at full speed, avoiding the few cars that are still on the driveway.

Gotham may seem like any other city in America, tall buildings, busy people everywhere, hunger, poverty, absurd nightlife, greed and lust; at least to its inhabitants. To any tourist, its just another big city on the East Coast. If I´m honest I do like the architecture of Gotham, unlike its neighbors, like Metropolis, that lacks any sense of taste and identity. But I know better than to judge a city by its buildings. The level of depravation and violence this city has seen over the years, disgusts me. It makes me angry every time I watch on the news that the man that had already killed 10 innocent young men, had been arrested on the verge of its eleventh murder. The GTV news network keeps saying Gotham is safe, that the Dent Act is what the city needed. I don't trust them.

I don't trust in anyone but me.

* * *

I drive by Wayne tower. Usually it looks magnificent at night, with all the lights reflecting on its steel columns, protruding from its façade. My father knew what he was doing when he helped design it. Alfred told me once that my father never intended it to look as a cold, imposing and towering pile of concrete, glass and steel. But the designers told him that he couldn't build a nice cozy house in the middle of the city, that he couldn´t give fish to the people, but fishing rods. As I grew up I realized my father was naïve, his heart was in the right place, but as for everything else, he didn´t know any better. I do.

But tonight the whole city is under the protective arm of the night. Gordon didn't want anyone to see me, he knows so much about me with what so little I´ve given him. There are a few cars on my way to the precinct. I park in an alleyway on the back of the building, and then get up from the outside using my grappling gun. I get up there smoothly, and he doesn't notice me at once. I stand five feet from where he is, he is looking right to where I stand and he still doesn't know.

"Jim".

I can see him flinching and gasping, but quickly composes himself as he immediately knows who is talking to him.

"Like riding a bicycle, one never forgets how to do it, eh?" He´s smiling at me, the way he smiles when something´s very wrong.

I don´t reply anything, instead I walk closer to the light, but just barely, so he can see my face.

"You look… thinner". He says, looking at my mouth. Suddenly I feel very self-conscious, but I still don't do anything.

I don´t like small talk, even if it is with Jim Gordon. He´s Commissioner for a reason. I´m glad his mind is sharp as ever, but not when he uses it on me.

"I was wrong, you´re the same. It…it may have been the light" suddenly he´s very serious and his voice tone is more mature. He knows we don't have much time before anyone suspects, so finally, he cuts to the point.

"It´s him", he pauses for a few seconds to watch my reaction. My face is impassive. My insides roar with hatred, "_He_ wants to see you".

"Do you know why?" My hoarse voice almost sounds like Bruce Wayne´s. I'm surprised. I did expect him to come back to my life sooner or later, as he is as wickedly attached to me as I am to him. My nemesis. The other side of the coin. Gordon´s answer saves me from delving into unwanted thoughts.

"He says he has some unfinished business with you. It´s obviously just some kind of mind game, but he´s been acting even more random than ever. I was told he killed his second to last caretaker, and that he sent his last one to the hospital wing, bit him. He really is bad up here," he points at his head with his finger, but with little enthusiasm, he hates him just like I do. But for different reasons, "He… says he misses your little interviews".

Gordon´s right, it's just the game of a psychopath who has nothing else to do.

"He… says _her_ death was nothing personal". He tilts his head to the side and looks somewhere beside my right foot. He knows the impact his words make on me, I don´t move a muscle.

"Anything else?", I will figure this out back at the manor, tonight my feelings belong at my room, here I can´t allow myself that luxury, not anymore.

Relieved, he answers: "As a matter of fact, there is", he takes out a plastic bag, containing a paper, I assume its evidence he sneaked out for me. This is the closest thing I will ever get to a high school reunion. I almost want to see a card in it.

"Seven murders this week, two of them happened yesterday". I take the plastic bag from his hand.

"I´ll look into it".

"You don't understand, I can solve a murder case, this is … a bit different", he doesn't stutter as much as he did when I met him as Batman the first time. He points at the bag and motions me with his head. There are some words neatly scribbled on the paper, still I turn the bag and see it´s a picture of a crime scene, two naked bodies lay on a bed. A man and a woman, both were in their late thirties. By the looks of it she was raped. He was strangled. What bothers me is something carved on the flesh of the corpses.

_Can the bat come out to play?_

The first four words are carved on the man´s chest, the rest on hers. There is a bat on the wall behind, painted in blood. And it's surrounded by profanities of all kinds written in blood too.

"Danielle and Hector Flannigan, 36, lived on the third floor of 45 on 52nd and Canal, no children, no known living relatives", he adopts a monotone voice, the one cops use to talk about cases with each other, "CSU canvassed the place, and there are no traces of DNA, no skin, no hair, no semen. The woman was raped. Based on forensic analysis, she was raped and killed first, while her husband watched, then killed him too. The suspect tied him to the bed, castrated him and gagged him; he struggled, if the marks on his wrists are any indication".

"You need to see the place". He´s fretting, he never does that.

"You need to come too, and tell me whatever evidence they moved, I want everything to be as close as possible to the original scene."

"Meet me there in thirty minutes", he says, seriously.

"I´ll be there in five", I reply and jump off of the building.

The place where the Flannigan's lived in was a small five storied building. It´s a Victorian apartment building with red bricks, small windows, a single entrance wooden door, with a modern security system, much like most buildings on this area. It's completely closed now, and only the residents are allowed to enter it. I of course, use the front window on the third floor to enter.

The smell of blood and semen is strong, along with something else I can't place, yet. I walk to the side a few steps so the moonlight fills into the room. A small bedroom, roughly 5 by 5 m, one bed, two nightstands on each side, each with it´s matching lamp, a crucifix on the wall, covered by the bloody bat.

There´s a big bloodstain on the mattress, by the looks of it, they both bled to near death before the killer decided he was thorough enough. There´s a trail of blood that goes from the left side of the bed to the window on my right. I lean out of the window, but there is nothing. Not even a small drop of blood.

The bat is as wide as the bed and as tall as two feet. It ´s neatly painted, though I doubt he did it with his bare hands. He must have used gloves. I´m hoping Gordon´s men overlooked particles of talcum. If not this could get tricky. Finger-painted, too.

One of the pillows still has the shape of the head of what I assume was Danielle Flannigan; on the other side of the bed, the one closest to me, the headboard has some cracks. Hector. He struggled alright.

I start pacing around the room, looking for something that explains why I feel so uneasy. It makes sense for a sociopath to be this methodical, but there are things that indicate quite the opposite, just as if he changed his mind midway through. This reminds me of the Harvey and Dent killings. To Gordon´s cops it may seem like a master stroke, to me it's just another puzzle with many, many more pieces to solve.

And there´s still that smell that doesn´t add up, the crime is quite simple, and I can see what Gordon already told me, even if he hadn't, I would´ve known. What bothers me is the details, how this looks like it was planned, and it also looks like it wasn't. I need to see the other victim´s files.

I get close to Danielle´s side and I notice something shining on the moonlight, something trapped in one of the fibbers of the wood of the headboard. I don't know what it is, I take out a pair of tweezers and put the little something (I'm almost sure it's a piece of a fingernail) inside one of the compartments on my utility belt.

The floor is made of wood, so any traces of fluids would be visible under UV light. And I don't want to insult Gordon by searching for any more blood when he arrives so I quickly pull out my UV portable lamp, and scan the room looking for evidence. I find none.

Except… except, there´s a small spot on the other side of the room. It has a regular square shape. What could it be?

I take out the tweezers again and scrape a bit of the wall where the stain is. I put them back on my belt.

I hear footsteps, so I turn off the lamp, and surely enough, Gordon stands under the threshold, holding a folder on his left hand, looking at me. He nods and enters the room.

"I´m sure you had plenty of chance to look around".

"He didn´t plan on this… invitation", I say almost in a hoarse whisper.

"What makes you say that?"

"He didn't plan on raping her, nor castrating him", I say calmly, "There is little evidence here of castration other than the pictures and the bloodstain on the bed. He threw the rest out of the window." I wait for it, and Gordon strolls past me and leans out of the window, looking for a non-existent limb.

"There´s blood on the windowsill".

I can tell he´s feels outraged.

"Took me a while to notice it, too"

"Yeah, well…" he runs his hand over his head again. "Rookies…"

"Did your men find anything that could be used to carve the message?"

"No, the kitchen´s clean, and nothing else seems to have been touched or used by anyone other than the victims."

"He entered from the window".

"Yeah we thought so, too. That´s his M.O., still something is off."

"You feel it too." It´s not a question.

"It´s just that with the other five victims… he had never raped." He says in disgust.

I have seen the look on Gordon´s face just once, when Dent threatened to kill his child."There´s something else, what is it?" He looks at me for a second and then turns his head towards the window.

"One of the other victims was a little girl".

"It doesn't have anything to do with this, why do you bring it up?"

"He… staged the scene, to make it look like she…", he clears his throat awkwardly, "he laid her beside his father".

"I see." Something close to fire is burning inside my guts.

"I´ll see what I can find."

"Yeah, I guessed you would need this," he hands me the file, and as I flip through the pages he says, "It feels good to have you back". I feel it too, but I don't say it.

I'm just flipping through the pages, because I can access the GPD´database from my cave, but he doesn't know that.

"_I´m_ not back. You´re on your own. I´m just doing this one time, for… whatever it is we were before. It will make everything easier for you and faster too." As much as I like the feeling of having someone besides Alfred to talk to, I don´t want to get involved in any more bloodshed, my hands are plenty red.

"Well, I´ll take what I can. How will I know you found something?"

"I´ll find you". I walk towards the window and jump to the cold street. As I fall down I hear him say.

"Yeah…right."

He may be the only friend I will ever have. Or want.

Just as I get on the bat-pod I notice something protruding from inside the left handle, it feels like it´s a piece of paper. I take it out and notice there´s something written on the top fold:

_Wayne._

I open it and read:

_I will bathe in his blood._

A deafening roar, and a hellish heatwave send me to the wall in front of me, I feel one of my ribs cracking, and the impact makes me huff and my lungs protest in agony for the loss of air.

Jim Gordon´s dead.

* * *

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**AcousticLetters**


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